


Three Years Down the Line (and i'm falling hard)

by HyfrydCymru



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Praise Kink, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2019-11-26 12:51:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18180827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HyfrydCymru/pseuds/HyfrydCymru
Summary: It’s almost too easy to press the inside of his wrist to the scalding hot metal and hold it there until he’s shaking and sobbing quietly. He wouldn’t have wanted to disturb the neighbours.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LovelyGarnet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyGarnet/gifts).



> Second chapter coming up in a few minutes ;) 
> 
> This has been such a complicated fic to write, for a million reasons and as someone who has never written a fic for this pairing before I can only hope that I can do it justice. LovelyGarnet, you are true to your name in that you're absolutely lovely <3
> 
> ((Also, completely unbetad because my beta fell through. Alas!))

/>  


“The only thing I can offer you at this point is to enrol you to re-sit the exam during the May diet,” the look of sympathy his lecturer shoots him does nothing for the nausea that has been gripping his stomach since he picked up his marked sheet from the Undergraduate Office.

“I’d have to redo the course.”

His Lecturer nods.

“I think it’s something you should consider.”

The base of his neck feels hot and it takes some conscious effort to breathe and look away from the tick in Dr Anderson’s jaw. He’d made tenure only a couple of years ago and only made it as Course Convenor before Odinson in Thermodynamics took over in September. Something to do with his wife. The last thing he probably needed was another student crying in his office over a failed course. Peter digs his nails hard into his left wrist, where he’s holding it carefully out of sight under the desk between them.

“Look, Peter. I know this isn’t ideal and that there’s a lot of pressure on you to graduate with your cohort but there’s nothing that says that you need to graduate in four years, you can take as much time as you need. And I’m going to be frank with you, if you’re struggling with the content for this module you’ll keep falling back next semester as well. Are you getting any form of financial aid at the moment?”

Peter shakes his head tightly.

“I don’t qualify for any bursaries.”

“Are you worried about tuition for another year then?”

No, it’s not about the money. His parents left him an insurance policy.

“A little,” Peter doesn’t know how well he’s selling it, but he smiles at Dr Anderson and hopes it doesn’t look as strained as it feels or that if it does, he’ll take him at face value.

“I see,” Anderson is nodding, again, and he takes up his pen from where it’s been sitting since Peter walked in to his appointment. “I am going to email you the details for Eileen in student support services. They should have a few options for you,” he puts the pen down with a sigh and tries to catch Peter’s eye, earnest. “This isn’t the end of the world Peter.”

It’s as clear a dismissal as he’s ever going to get.

“I know,” he keeps his expression as pleasant as he can for as long as it takes him to gather his things, which isn’t long. He didn’t even take his coat off. “Thanks for the tip.”

Whatever Anderson says to that doesn’t really register. He’s already halfway out the door pressing onto where the bitten ends of two of his nails broke through newly-healed scabs.

\--  
\--

His head is spinning but he feels warm and loose; better than he has in weeks.

The department throws them a party every year right before the summer and while he’s come to avoid anything even close to this in the past year he makes the effort to make it to this one. There’s a short presentation before they let them loose on the university-funded food and booze and that, if anything, is enough of a motivation for anyone to attend.

Peter is also here because he didn’t trust himself at home.

He doesn’t talk to his classmates much and they don’t particularly seek him out either but they’re alright, most of them. He’s friendly with one or two of them and that’s enough for him. He’s long past the time when he’d had an easy time making friends, but he can laugh and enjoy himself with these almost strangers,. He talks to MJ still, a couple of times a month, and Ned more often than that, but it’s been getting harder to put in the effort that it takes to keep these relationships from however many miles away and a four-hour time difference that shouldn’t make it as hard to keep in touch as it does. They try, and he loves them for it, but it’s exhausting to keep up appearances and Peter can feel them slowly but surely drifting apart, have been since Peter started fucking up. He knows that they don’t see it that way, would never think of it, of him, that way but it doesn’t really matter. They don’t know much of anything, just that he was a bit burnt out and wanted to take some time off before going off to university. They want to ask. He can hear it in the long silences when they skype, and the long looks they shot him the last few weeks of class before graduation when he was pale and withdrawn.

But Peter doesn’t bring it up, so they don’t either, and he’s somehow both grateful and resentful for it.

Someone is laughing too hard from the other side of the room and Lucy is pressing another sloshing glass of cheap wine into his hand. He takes it with a smile and takes a long draw from it to the cheers of their little bunch. Some of them are talking about heading to a pub after, already pleasantly buzzed and eager to keep the night going but Peter already declined.

They leave in a rush of coats and handbags, a few scarves, and Peter is sitting alone with the last dregs of his drink in what feels like a blink.

It’s uncomfortable, but he sinks lower into the chair he’s sitting on and presses his hands into his eyes hard. His wrists ache dully in a way that is making him anxious to get home, but he doesn’t want to be alone right now. He’s too tempted to drop a glass on his countertop to lean on or pull out his second-hand soldering iron to press on the vulnerable skin between his fingers.

He’s trying. He _is_.

May caught him digging a dull exacto knife into his thigh one afternoon. He’d been too upset to remember to lock his bedroom door and he’d needed it so so bad that he hadn’t let go even as Aunt May screamed and he sobbed apologies to her. Something had snapped eventually and she’d started crying as well and gone down on her knees to carefully pry the metal from his fingers. It makes him sick to think about it now, of May having to press down on the uneven wounds on his thighs and holding him to her like he was still a child and not months away from eighteen.

He spent the first few months after graduation at home, feeling like something had sucked the life right out of him, and he couldn’t understand why. Without the pressure of school and with Ned away with his parents to settle in his new dorm he let himself go. All he wanted to do was sleep and stay warm in bed. He couldn’t look Aunt May in the eye, much less find the energy to shower or find something to do. The days dragged on. He’d set alarms some days, determined to _get up_ , _go out_ , do _something_. Instead he’d lay there for hours and he wouldn’t even feel guilty about it. Just tired. He started resenting Aunt May’s attempts to get him out of the house and hating the psychologist he’d started seeing once a week. He still flinches when he thinks of how he’d raised his voice at her, how he’d slammed doors and snapped but it was like he wasn’t himself, like all he could feel other than numb was _angry_.

Things took a turn when one afternoon he’d walked out of his room to find Aunt May’s boyfriend sitting in the living room with his camera equipment spread on the low coffee table. Peter had stood there, feeling caught, but he’d been an alright guy, invited him to come closer and have a look. May had told him all about Peter and wasn’t he interested in engineering? Wouldn’t he like to have a look? He’d been learning how to fix his own equipment and there were a few things he couldn’t figure out, but Peter was definitely smarter, and he could help, wouldn’t he?

He’ still not sure why he’d agreed that day but a few hours later Aunt May had walked in to find him smiling and talking for the first time in months. He’d spent the rest of that Fall reading up on the care and maintenance of photography equipment, lenses, then colour theory and visual weight. Aunt May bought him his first camera for Christmas, and when he took it out to Central Park the very next morning it felt like waking up. He signed up to a year-long photography course that January and he’d been better. Happy. He had even felt up to visiting Ned in Boston over the summer and that’s when the urgency to get back on his feet really hit him.

He was looking up programmes and filling in college applications when he started thinking of going abroad. Aunt May had been cautious at first but the more enthusiastic Peter had seemed about it, the more the idea had started growing on her. And Edinburgh was beautiful.

More importantly, Edinburgh was giving him a chance.

His grades weren’t stellar his first year here, but they weren’t bad either. He’d told himself that he just needed to adapt to the coursework and the grading scale and he would be fine. He’d set alarms every morning at seven, kept his room in living condition. He had a small kitchenette with a sketchy microwave in his tiny studio and the walls were paper thin, but the space was his and things were working out. He was proud of himself, and so was May. So what if he was drinking too much coffee or staying up a little too late? All students did that. And if he sometimes let his nails drag too hard on his upper arms or shoulders when he felt overwhelmed, he’d been doing that for years and it was soothing. The burn of it felt good, and it brought him down from the edge of panic when he started feeling overwhelmed.

(He’s gotten well past the point where he feels like that’s enough anymore.)

He hadn’t started feeling sluggish until his second year, but he figured he was home-sick, and the feeling would pass. He started pushing it a bit with his deadlines too, but that wasn’t something new and he was never late, which was what really mattered. He tutored during the summer and took pictures like crazy. May visited for almost three weeks and she couldn’t quite hide the relief on her face when she caught him wearing with his sleeves rolled up and there were no new marks on his wrists.

His exam results get there the night before she left. They were having dinner in Aunt May’s hotel room, sharing two desserts between them, when his phone started blowing up some with notifications from people on his code lab group chat. He’d tucked it under his thigh even as his aunt raised her eyebrows and encouraged him to answer his friends, but he’d laughed her off. She was only there for one more night, he’d said, and his friends could wait. Peter spends the night curled up on the couch in her room and doesn’t sleep much. They said goodbye early the next morning with a taxi idling nearby, held each other hard, and when Aunt May pulled away she was drying her eyes discreetly only to laugh when she sees him doing the same. He stood there on the pavement until the taxi disappeared behind a building, his phone a burning weight in his back pocket. He’d felt horribly drained when he got home and napped for a couple of hours before he could be arsed to put on the kettle and settle down with his laptop.

The kettle has been silent for a little less than a minute when he finds the energy to stand up to deal with it.

He has to swallow a few times before he feels like he can breathe.

It’s almost too easy to press the inside of his wrist to the scalding hot metal and hold it there until he’s shaking and sobbing quietly. He wouldn’t have wanted to disturb the neighbours.

When he’d decided to hold back from going to college for a few years it was a good idea, and it felt like the right thing to do. It was supposed to help, and it did. But now he can’t help but wonder if he was fucked either way and he just dragged his feet to failure. He’s broken every promise he’s ever made to May but if he’s being honest with himself he’d never really stopped. He’d just gotten smarter about it, and the guilt is eating him alive, which only makes him want to hurt himself more.

What the fuck is he going to say to her now?

He’s so caught up in his own thoughts that he doesn’t even startle when the chair next to his is dragged back with a screech, but he does straighten up and immediately brings his hands to his lap, suddenly paranoid of his sleeves riding up.

“Prof,” his heart is pounding but he feels a smile tug at his lips after a second.

“Kido,” Tony is smiling at him as he gets comfortable. He pulled his chair to face Peter rather than the table and their knees are almost touching. “You’re the only one who's ever called me that, you know? It’s adorable.”

Peter is too caught off guard to do anything but gape at him.

“What?”

“Prof, short for professor, and a Peter Parker exclusive” he looks amused, but he settles quickly into something warmer when Peter keeps looking at him like he’s speaking French all of a sudden. “Sorry, I’m always just jumping right in it with you, aren’t I?”

“No, no you’re fine,” Peter smiles, a bit surer of himself and lets himself release some of the tension he’s holding on his shoulders. “Just caught me off guard.”

Peter honest to God doesn’t understand why Tony even bothers seeking him out so much but it’s been like this form the start. He’d walked into his first Machine Learning lab ready for it to go like any other coding-heavy module, sat at the back and got to it. The room had been quiet, but he still hadn’t noticed Tony standing behind him until he’d leaned closer into his space and made a noise of approval high in his throat.

“You’re going to be a good one, aren’t you?” and that had been the start of it.

He started running into Tony a lot after that, or maybe he’d just never noticed before. At first it had been, admittedly, because Peter missed New York and Tony was New York, in a weird sort of sense. Loud, brash, a little intense. They had lunch together a few times after running into each other in the university cafeteria and Tony started dropping by to sit with Peter in the library when he could. Peter had wanted to ask, then, if it was wrong that they were spending so much time together when Tony was the GTA for his course, but he’d never brought it up. He liked having Tony around, maybe a little too much, and he didn’t want him to stop.  


He looks at him sometimes, when Tony is taking notes on whatever post-Doc thing he’s working on, or grading first year’s papers, and Peter lets himself think that what they have is a little more than just some common interests and some time to spare. He thinks of stretching his legs a bit more under the table to hook his feet behind Tony’s calves and imagines the way Tony would look at him after. He imagines Tony sitting next to him instead of across in the couches on the third floor of the library and how warm he would feel where their thighs would press into each other. He thinks about other things as well, when he’s alone in the shower or lying in bed at night. Thinks of Tony’s hands on his hips, of going down on his knees for him.

Then he’s brought right back to reality when he imagines the face Tony would make when he realises how incompetent he actually is. A “good one” indeed. He’s lucky Tony no longer has to grade his papers. It would be humiliating to have to talk to him afterwards.

 

“Off guard is alright,” Tony puts down an elbow on the table to hold his head up on the palm of his hand, the way he usually does when Peter stays behind to use the computer lab and he doesn’t have much else to do.

“Off guard is very good, actually. You’ve been looking kinda tense kiddo. Haven’t seen you around much.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Could be busy with me, you know? I’ve missed my study buddy.”

Now Peter really can’t stop himself from huffing a laugh of disbelief.

“Study buddy?”

“My very favourite one, too. I don’t make my special coffee for just anyone.”

“So you’ve said.”

Tony looks good tonight. He’s wearing jeans under his blazer and they look soft. Peter has to wonder how tipsy he really is to be thinking like that.

“I have said, and I’ll say it again,” Tony shifts again, and it’s almost like he knows what Peter is thinking because the way he’s sitting now, their knees are just barely dovetailing together. If Peter closes his thighs anymore, he’ll catch Tony’s between his and it makes something heavy settle on his chest.

“You looked a bit lonely here, not up for cheese and chips with, who was it, Lucy, Adam? I saw you hanging around them, earlier.”

“You heard about that?”

Tony laughs.

“Hard not to, with the bunch of them chanting it as they left the building.”

Peter is leaning on the table now too and Tony wonders if he realises how his knee has started to nudge his gently, like a nervous tick.

“They’re a bit much.”

“You keep to yourself a lot,” Peter makes a face at that and Tony is quick to nudge his knee back to bring him back from wherever his head was taking him. “It’s not a bad thing.”

Peter looks to where their knees are touching, leg falling still.

He’s been leaning forward, he realises absentmindedly, and they’re both a lot closer than they had been just a few minutes ago.

“I didn’t want to be alone tonight,” the words rush out in a mortifying tumble and he can feel his cheeks burning.

Tony’s eyes look impossibly fond.

“You don’t have to be.”

Peter’s breathing stutters a little bit and he’s looking at Tony like he’s waiting for the roof to fall on both of them. He looks nervously to where the rest of the teaching staff are doing short work of the remaining wine and crisps.

“Hey,” Tony straightens, letting his hand fall on Peter’s forearm where it has been resting on the table. “It’s alright. Nothing like free food to keep people busy. It’s just you and me kiddo.”

Tony’s hand is warm on his arm. Peter turns his hand a bit, so he can feel he fabric of Tony’s blazer better on the pads of his fingers. He hears Tony exhale for a little longer than he normally breathes, and it makes the weight on his chest move lower, settle warmly on the cradle of his hips. Maybe it’s the alcohol or the bone-deep weariness he carries, but suddenly all he can think of is how Tony’s weight would settle over him and he _wants_ it so bad it almost makes him ache.

“Come home with me tonight,” Tony’s voice is deeper like this, close and intimate. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want. I’ll make us some coffee, and we can watch a movie. Anything you want.”

Peter’s mouth feels dry, so he sucks in his bottom lip to wet it and buy himself another second to think this through. Tony is drawing slow circles in the crook of his elbow and even through the flannel of his shirt it feels like too much.

“Yeah,” he’s voice is steady when he finally speaks. “Okay. Yeah.”

Tony’s smile makes him feel brave.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little booze and a little buzz makes it easy to forget the little (big) things that bring you down. Coming down from that high can be jarring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse for taking so long to finish editing this chapter. What was supposed to be minutes turned into days turned into a rewrite. 
> 
> I need coffee and will take the slap I deserve. LovelyGarnet sorry to you most of all.

They take a taxi to Tony’s place and the ride there is quiet. It’s raining, and Peter spends most of it following the blurry lights outside the frosted window.

 

He didn’t know what he was expecting but the first thing that he notices is that Tony’s flat is open in a way that he isn’t used to anymore. They leave their shoes and damp coats by the door, and from there Peter can see the living room and the kitchen door, some of the hallway that leads into what he’s sure is a bedroom or two. The lights are off and there’s just the soft glow from the street washing the space in in blues and whites.

 

Tony makes an inviting gesture towards the couch and says something about fetching them drinks, leaving Peter alone to get comfortable. And he is, surprisingly. Or maybe not. He’s never felt uncomfortable around Tony before.

 

There are shelves near the wide bay windows and it is only just bright enough to make out some of the larger titles. There’s a bit of everything from what he can tell, mostly science but a few novels as well, a couple of those wide art or photography books you can find in doctor’s offices. There’s also a careful line-up of records and he lets his finger catch on each like he could play something just like this. Tony sets two glasses down somewhere behind him just as he releases the last sleeve with a little _flap_. His body is angled towards the corner of the room in a way that lets him catch Tony’s reflection on the window closest to him from the way the light from the kitchen bounces off the walls, just a glimpse before he draws closer.

 

Tony isn’t a tall man but he’s taller than Peter. Enough so that when he presses right to his back Peter has no trouble leaning his head against the crook of his neck. Tony hums pleasantly at that.

 

They stay like that for a minute, Tony wrapped around him, a solid presence at his back, and Peter drinks the contact in with his eyes closed. Tony squeezes him a little before he lets go, but he doesn’t stop touching him, just shifts his hands to knead a little at Peter’s shoulders and his upper arms. Puts a little pressure on them to turn Peter around and Peter lets himself be guided so they’re face to face. Tony breaks out into a smile like he really can’t help it.

 

“How you doin’?” he also can’t help that he wants to make Peter laugh.

 

It has the desired effect and Peter shakes his head good-naturedly.

 

“Jesus.”

 

“Unavailable at the moment,” and Peter snorts at that, which is stupidly endearing. “We’re not really leaving much space for him, but you’ve got the next best thing kiddo.”

 

“Tony.”

 

“I’ve even made my own wine before,” he’s cupping Peter’s face now, and he can feel the barely there stubble on the edge of his jaw, “Or honey-wine, technically. A whole two gallons of it.”

 

“And was it good?”

 

“Oh, no. Tasted like corn syrup and vinegar, and I haven’t tried again.”

 

Peter’s still shaking his head at him but he’s starting to look a little skittish again.

 

“Hey,” he brings his right hand up to cup Peter’s face. He can feel where his stubble is coming in, right at the edge of his jaw, but his skin is almost smooth under his palm, “You look like you’re thinking an awful lot.”

 

“Just a little,” Peter leans into the touch and his lids seem to get a little heavier.

 

“I got you some water,” Tony says, and they’re almost whispering again.

 

“I’m not drunk.”

 

“How about a little thirsty?” Peter’s glare doesn’t have much heat in it, not with the way he’s flushing. It’s stupidly endearing.

 

“Tony.”

 

“Oh, saying my name already.”

 

“Tony!” and he looks close to laughing again.

 

“That’s the spirit,” it’s such a short distance now, between their lips that it would take almost nothing to close.

 

Peter’s eyes are very dark in this light.

 

“I meant what I said,” and did, he _does_ , “Anything you want.”

 

“What about you?”

 

“What about me?”

 

“What do you want?”

 

“I want to make you feel good,” Peter’s hair is downy soft at the nape of his neck, and his hands have been slowly petting around Tony’s middle.

 

“And what if I want that too?” his hands are close to his belt now, teasing his shirt until it hangs half untucked and his cold fingers brush warm skin.

 

Tony answers him with a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

 

Peter sighs, breath brushing against the skin of Tony’s lips as he parts them, and Tony takes advantage of that to take his lower lip between his, suck on it like Peter had earlier. Peter’s hands get a little bolder with that, slipping under his clothes proper and Tony whispers his name against him.

 

He hasn’t kissed a lot of people in his life, touched no one but himself. If Tony can tell, he doesn’t say anything, but he goes slow, guides their kisses until they’re hot and deep, and Peter feels lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. When he uses his thumb to keep Peter’s lips parted so he can suck on his tongue it makes him feel like he could come just from this and his hips rock against Tony’s.

 

‘’Hm, that’s good, you’re so good” Tony lets his mouth go to press a wet kiss on his cheek, his jaw, “Come here.”

 

Tony’s hand, the one that he’s kept on his waist so far, goes lower to cup his arse and pull him closer, right to where he can feel him hot and hard even through their jeans. They both grunt and Peter rolls his hips again. It’s a familiar motion. He’s humped his pillow before, thinking of this. Of Tony.

 

They fall into the couch in a tangle, but Tony manhandles him a bit until Peter can perch comfortable on his thighs and there’s some space between them.

 

It’s Peter’s turn to set the pace and he starts by going for Tony’s shirt. He takes his time with each button and when he’s done he spreads his fingers wide. Tony lets him do it and moans when his palms catch on his nipples, raises his head so Peter can draw a line of kisses from his sternum to the tip of his jaw. His hands are tucked where Peter’s thighs curve upwards and when he pulls on the flesh there, Peter can feel it _everywhere._

 

“Feels good?” He doesn’t give Peter a chance to answer before he does it again.

 

“Yes! Yes, Tony just…”

 

“Let me…”

 

They both fumble to get each other’s trousers undone, breathing out a sigh when they can finally cup and rub through thin cotton. They kiss again, less frantic now that they feel like they can breathe again, until Tony breaks apart from him to speak.

 

“I want to see you,” he’s already reaching for the top button of Peter’s shirt as he says it.

 

And stop immediately when Peter makes a startled sound and catches Tony’s hands where they are still hovering right over his sternum.

 

“Wait, wait.”

 

Peter is breathing heavier than he was a second ago and he has to close his eyes for a moment. Tony waits before gently bringing their hands down to where they’ll be more comfortable, careful to keep them on neutral ground.

 

“Kiddo?”

 

Tony gives his hands a little squeeze and Peter returns it after a beat.

 

“Peter,” Tony’s voice sounds more serious than he’s ever heard it before.

 

“I know.”

 

Peter holds Tony’s gaze steadily as he pulls his hands out of his hold and he unbuttons his own shirt as before he loses his nerve.

“I want to… Like this, tonight. Just like this.”

 

Tony is still looking at him intently, but he nods before reaching over to pull him into a slow kiss, tucking Peter more comfortably into his arms before speaking again.

 

“Do you want me to keep my clothes on as well?”

 

Peter’s eyes look hungry.

 

“No, please,” they’re so close that every word is a brush of their lips.

 

“So polite,” Tony’s voice is amused but not unkind and Peter wants to kiss him again, so he does.

 

Tony’s thumb is tracing shapes on the fabric that stretches over the hollow of his hips. A little harder and it would tug on his erection, so he leans into it. Tony catches on and does him one better, using two of his fingers to rub on the wet spot where Peter’s cock has been leaking for him.

 

“Can I pull down your jeans a little?”

 

Peter thinks of the smaller prints on the shelves, of how hard they were to make out in the dark. Of how good it feels to be pressed together like this and how much better it can be.

 

“I want them off.”

 

Tony shifts beneath him.

 

“Lay down for me.”

 

Tony is the one kneeling over him after some shuffling and he makes a show of shimmying his hips as he pulls down his trousers and shrugs his shirt from his shoulders. It’s difficult to keep a straight face through it, so Peter doesn’t try, relaxing back onto the cushions as Tony hovers over him.

 

“Hey prof.”

 

“Hi gorgeous,” Tony brushes back the messy fringe and Peter feels his heart stutter.

 

He’s still thinking of something to say when Tony lowers himself more fully on top of him and then he can only groan, can feel himself harden again under the steady roll of Tony’s hips. This close, Peter can see the laugh lines on Tony’s face, the way pleasure softens the line of his lips and his eyes. He lets himself explore the flesh available to him, palming down Tony’s sides, his back, the sensitive skin around his nipples and the base of his neck.

 

Tony sighs and the rhythm of his thrusting slows to a drag and he drops his head to the cramped space between Peter’s temple and the back of the couch. His lips brush the edge of his ear and even that feels good. Peter moans louder than before and bends his knees to get whatever leverage he can to press _up_ and encourage Tony to _keep going, keep going,_ words he’s too shy to whisper even now.

 

“You’re so good, you feel so good like this, underneath me,” Tony alternates between sucking on Peter’s earlobe and simply pressing his lips to the delicate skin behind his ear, where Peter can feel his voice vibrating all the way down to his belly. “I want you so much.”

 

Peter feels a spurt of precum wet the fabric between them.

 

“Tony, _Tony,_ ” he’s keening, clumsily surrendering half of the hold he has on Tony’s back to clumsily reach between them to yank down Tony’s briefs. The inside of his wrist brushes hot, wet skin and he shifts his hold so Tony can better angle his thrusts to the tight space between the palm of his hand and his cock where it flexes under his cotton slips.

 

“Raise your hips a little, that’s it,” Tony’s movements are a little gentler, one-handed as they are, “That’s it. Keep your hand like that, nice and tight,” his voice is so low it almost sounds hoarse. “You’re making us so wet,” Peter makes a sound, almost like a sob, at that and Tony licks it right out of his mouth.

 

“You are, oh you are. It’s perfect,” his thrusts are getting jerky and Peter does what he can to keep up, thighs shaking for the effort it takes to hold back but Tony’s hand joins his and makes him squeeze them tighter, works them harder. “You’re perfect. Kid. Peter, you’re perfect.”  

 

Peter cums with a shout and Tony kisses him through it, gentling the frantic movement of their hands before he’s too sensitive and rutting against the jut of Peter’s hipbone instead, where he’s smeared in his own come. Peter feels like he’s floating, and he releases the tight grip of his thighs around Tony’s waist in favour of letting one of his calves press him closer, encouraging. Tony’s thrusts stutter just as hard against him a few minutes later, a moan caught in his throat and with Peter’s hand buried in the tangled mess of his hair.

 

They kiss, and it feels like their first did, slow and deep and searching, until Peter lets himself be lulled by the soothing weight of Tony above him and he closes his eyes.

 

He’s only half awake for the kisses Tony presses to his neck and jaw, and the sweet nothings he murmurs as he disentangles himself gently from between his legs. His mind blank, Peter lets him go with a sigh.

 

He’s half caught in a dream when Tony returns with a towel that drags warm and wet against the inside of his thighs and the hollow of his hip. Tony’s fingers trail in its wake and then his lips, near his navel, then his upper thigh…

 

Tony stops touching him almost abruptly, and just as suddenly Peter is too awake.

 

A silent minute goes by and he’s so tense he’s almost shaking, afraid to open his eyes so he squeezes them close tighter. He’s trying to take deep breaths but he is not stupid enough to think that he’s managing anything approaching calm. There’s a twitch in his jaw from the way he is clenching his back teeth to keep his bottom lip from trembling but it’s all a lost cause when Tony gathers him up as much as he can from where he’s kneeling next to him on the couch.

 

The first sob rips through his chest almost painfully.

 

“That’s it, let it out. I’m here,” Tony’s voice is deep and low, and Peter can feel the beat of every syllable from where he is trying to press himself as closely as he can to Tony’s chest. “I’m here.”

 

Tony holds him until his sobs dry up and leave him feeling curiously empty and disoriented. It feels like he’s been crying for so long that there should be the first shades of morning smeared on the sky, but it’s still dark outside when Peter gathers himself and pulls away from Tony’s arms.

 

His breathing hiccups some still but the tears have slowed enough that he can swipe them away with his sleeves as he sits up, shoulders hunched into himself, making himsef smaller. Tony is holding out a glass of water for him when he gives up on cleaning up his runny nose with his damp sleeves.

 

“Thank you.”

 

His voice is rough, and he has to take a few sips before he feels like he can speak again but before he can even begin to stumble his way through an apology, Tony threads a hand very gently through the hair at his temple.

 

“I’d like you to stay,” his eyes are serious when Peter can bring himself to meet Tony’s gaze. “I’ve been meaning to ask you over so that I can ask you to stay for a while, actually,” he continues, “because I like you, and I’m a little obsessed with your eyes, and your most things if I’m being honest. Seriously, are you a piece of carbon, because I would really love to date you.”

 

 Peter’s huff of laughter sounds more like another choked sob, but it’s there and Tony wants to kiss him, press him safely to his chest, but he’s not done.

 

“So I would like you to stay, and we can sleep and I’ll cook up some breakfast in a few hours,” Peter is still holding the glass of water on his lap and Tony lets his spare hand settle over Peter's and gentle his death grip on the chilled glass. He sets it somewhere on the floor to his left without paying much attention. “And I want you to talk to me.”

 

Peter’s face is crumpling a little again, so Tony gives in and crowds in a little closer, so Peter can tuck his face by his neck.  

 

“It doesn’t have to be now, or tomorrow, but I’m not blind Peter,” Tony can feel fresh tears wetting his skin and Peter’s shoulders are rising in little spasms. His own voice goes a little uneven. “I don’t want you hurting yourself, baby.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Peter’s voice is thick with tears.

 

“You don’t have to apologise.”

 

Peter makes an ugly sound of protest.  

 

“Yes, I do!”

 

“Not to me you don’t. Not to me.”

 

Another shaking sob.

 

“Then what do I do?”

 

Tony has to close his eyes for a moment, too familiar with the helpless feeling that the question begs.

 

“Just now? Let me hold you. Let me get you something warm to wear. Sleep. Breakfast,” Tony presses his lips to the top of Peter's head. “How does that sound?”

 

He wants to let himself have it.

 

Tony feels Peter nod against him and he rubs soothing patterns into his back.

 

“Okay,” he’s smiling when he kisses Peter before he puts some distance between them again. “Then let’s get you back on your feet first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "He wants to let himself have it." applies to both of these dummies. 
> 
> Chapter may be subject to minor edits at some point; 10000% unbeta'd. 
> 
> Comments and kudos appease the depression Cthulhu <3


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